‘Harakiri’ or — The Violence Inherent in The System?
(No spoilers)
It is 1630 and Tsugumo, a masterless samurai (ronin), arrives at the estate of the Iyi clan requesting permission to commit ritual hara-kiri, seppuku, in their forecourt thus allowing him a honourable death rather than a life of disgrace. However, the clan’s elder informs this samurai that only seven months previously another, younger ronin called Motome arrived at their gates with exactly the same request, a request that raised suspicions at the Iyi estate as this time of peace has seen a rise in unemployed samurai, many of whom now seek work by insincerely requesting to commit seppuku on the chance estates will take pity of them and offer work or money. Motome is given permission but only if he performs the ritual immediately to prove his word. The Iyi clan believe this will act as a warning to other ronin attempting to use seppuku as a scam for employment. The young ronin pleads for time, just a couple of days, before commiting harakiri but the clan believe this to be an excuse and deny this leniency. Motome must kill himself now and using his own sword, but seeing as this young ronin had sold his weapons for much needed money his blades are simply made of bamboo. To commit seppuku with a bamboo blade will be intensely painful but the samurai code must be honoured.
The clan elder tells Tsugumo this tale as a warning — that he had better be sincere about his wish to kill himself and follow the code. Tsugumo implacably reassures the elder that he is absolutely serious about committing seppuku in their courtyard… but first this samurai also has a tale to tell.
Masaki Kobayashi’s ‘Harakiri’ (1962) deals with similar issues the director tackled in his epic ‘The Human Condition’ (1959), namely how can an individual take a stand against systems of humiliation and violence. There are codes of tradition and honour that must be respected but what about empathy and pragmatism, and should we respect systems when that tradition and honour have become weapons of brutality themselves?
Nearly all of ‘Harakiri’ takes place in the Iyi courtyard as tales are told using flashbacks, Tsugumo and the Iyi clan duelling not with swords but with narratives and the truth is slowly revealed. Kobayashi’s skill is his ability to make all of this utterly compelling as contexts and power dynamics shift and change. We are convinced of Tsugumo’s sincerity yet is his story telling for a point or is he simply stalling for time, more Scheherazade than samurai? The Iyi clan soon cotton on that something is up but, until we hear Tsugumo’s story to the end, they and we don’t know quite what.
When sword-fighting does occur towards the end it is executed with grace and style. Kobayashi is a deliberate and precise filmmaker and he keeps that calm precision when it comes to the action. There are no clumsy or wasteful moves, the camera and editing providing the grace whilst during a fight on a hillside storm-clouds and the screen bisected by horizon lines provide the power.
‘Harakiri’ is an excellent film that, rather than revelling in action and spectacle, cuts to the very heart of hypocrisy and power. The black and white cinematography is gorgeous and we are lead through the events by Kobayashi’s exacting eye. The structure and plot are exquisitely crafted and a sparse score by Tori Takemitsu compliments the visual space perfectly.
‘Harakiri’ isn’t the most action packed samurai film but it is one of the most sensitive and intelligent and packs a truly powerful emotional and aesthetic punch.
